


your heart must be tired

by grimmyneutron



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Character Death, F/M, Slow Burn, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, as if you needed or wanted another zombie fic, the zombie au i didn't mean to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmyneutron/pseuds/grimmyneutron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You should have woken me,” She said, crossing her arms in an attempt to look stern.</p>
<p>“There were only four,” He said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. "And you were snoring. It was kind of cute.”</p>
<p>If he hadn’t held a gun to her head the night before, Clarke might have thought he was flirting. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Or, Clarke and Bellamy meet at the end of the world and try not to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess and I don't know what else to say. I couldn't get the idea of a zombie au out of my head even though they've been written before.

“Is that all of it?”

“I told you, someone’s already been through here. So yeah, this is all of it.”

“Could go without the attitude but thanks, sweetheart.”

“Oh, fuck off, Reyes.”

“If you two are finished… We have company.”

Clarke risked a glance at her two bickering comrades before focusing on the croaks outside. The walking dead themselves, nearly white in color, with hair and flesh rotting right off the bone. They weren’t intelligent or very fast, but they were fast enough to pose a threat.

She felt Wells step cautiously up behind her, his AK-47 propped against her shoulder, not daring draw attention to the glass doors that kept their scent hidden from the croaks. “How many, Clarke?”

“Three, maybe four. They’re sniffing around the Jeep.”

“As they’re apt to do,” Raven sneered from her place behind the counter. She was still stuffing packs of Marlboros into her knapsack and didn’t look the least bit concerned.

“All right, hot shot. You take care of them then,” Wells stepped away from the door and gestured grandly.

Raven shoved one last pack of smokes in her back jeans pocket and hopped the counter gracefully. “Anything for you, babe.”

Wells scowled as she took the gun from his hands. “We’re running out of daylight, so make it quick.”

“Cover me?” Raven addressed Clarke, waggling her eyebrows comically. Raven was slower these days, after she messed up her leg pretty bad during the run-in they had with some croaks in Terra Haute. Still, she was an excellent shot, and she moved with fluid grace, making her a valuable asset. It was probably why Wells allowed her to tag along when they’d come across her in Cincinnati, despite Raven’s impeccable ability to antagonize him at every opportunity.

Clarke nodded and waited.

“On my count,” Raven said, suddenly serious. She counted down from three and kicked open the door, gun raised. The croaks looked up from the Jeep, and before Clarke had even stepped out into the parking lot, three mangled bodies were flat on the ground, headless.

Raven spun around with flourish.

“How’d I do?” She asked with a smug grin.

Clarke smirked. “Not bad.”

The two laughed and headed towards the Jeep. Then suddenly and without warning, a single shot rang out, echoing under the gas station awning. Both girls whirled around to see Wells standing, Glock in hand, and a fourth croak dead on the ground across the lot.

Raven laughed, loud and sudden. “Heroic as always, Wells.”

If Wells felt smug, he didn’t show it. He rolled his eyes and looked at Clarke. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s head out before it gets too late.”

The three of them hopped into the four-door Jeep they’d hotwired in the last town they passed through, Clarke behind the wheel. It was a luxury and a risk, having a vehicle, and only one Clarke felt comfortable with when they were traveling long distances of open highways. Cars were loud and attracted attention, but if they found one with gas in the tank they rarely passed it up.

As Raven reached under the dash and started the car, Clarke snuck a glance at Wells. He was facing forward, his dark eyes scanning the area, and Clarke almost had to laugh. Wells was always ready, always waiting for the next sign of danger. She was lucky to have him, really. They’d met in West Virginia about six months after the government shutdown, and she thankfully hadn’t shot him in the head on sight, as people were apt to do at the time. It was simple really; his family was dead, her family was dead, and traveling alone was a dangerous game they’d both been playing for too long.

They ended up being a somewhat dynamic duo, traveling from settlement to settlement every few months, living nomadically most of the time. Of course, feelings emerged after a month or two, unfortunately one-sided, but Wells never pined after her or made her feel guilty for not returning his attraction. By the time they had stumbled upon Raven three years later, feelings had been long-since pushed aside in favor of comradery and survival.

“We’re about two days from Denver,” Wells commented once they’d pulled onto the barren interstate.

Raven perked up at this; in the few months she’d been travelling with them, Clarke had gotten to know her and her story. Denver was her endgame, she’d said. She had a boyfriend there, Finn, whom she hoped was still alive. She wanted Clarke and Wells to stay there too.

Clarke’s stomach churned at the thought. She and Wells had passed through a few settlements before, stopping for supplies and if there was running water, a hot shower. Whenever they passed through, she and Wells would claim they were married. It was archaic, but in this new world, people saw women as the sole means of humanity’s survival. If she was married, she was unavailable and therefore safe.

Rape used to be something Clarke only worried about in a crowded bar or when she was walking the street alone; now it was something she had to fear every time they came in contact with other people. Some wanted to keep the human race alive, through whatever means necessary.

“The map says to take 255 south. It’ll spit us out across the Mississippi,” Wells said, interrupting her train of thought.

She took the exit, despite Raven’s protests of wanting to see the Arch. Downtowns were dangerous, usually swarming with croaks, so they turned onto an interstate that took them north. Clarke didn’t know much about St. Louis, aside from hearing that its settlement was one to avoid due to disease and dwindling resources.

They pulled into the southern suburb of Mehlville just as the sun was setting and stopped at a gas station. This was their routine on pit stops: they siphoned some gas, usually did a little B-and-E in a nearby neighborhood, and bunkered down till morning. Travelling at night was risky as headlights drew attention, and croaks were most active in the dark.

“Pick a house, any house,” Wells sang haughtily as Clarke turned into a neighborhood. It was his favorite game, one Raven taught him their first week on the road together.

“Oh, I don’t know, darling, they’re all a bit run-down for me,” Raven replied with a sniff. “You know I was hoping for a turn-key.”

“A little fixer-upper might be nice, though.”

“That one,” Clarke said, even though she never really played with them. She pointed to a little one-and-a-half story to the right. It was still fairly charming, with a dark grey siding, black shutters that were mostly still intact and a red front door, the paint starting to chip. It reminded her of her dad’s house, and she suddenly wanted to cry.

“I love it!” Raven squealed, leaning around the headrest to give Clarke a dramatic kiss on the cheek.

Wells frowned because of course he noticed her mood change right away. “It’s perfect,” He said, and Clarke pulled into the driveway.

By the time Clarke cut the engine, Raven was already bent over the backseat digging through the trunk for their weaponry. She pulled out a machete she’d picked up in a novelty shop in Illinois. It was pretty sturdy surprisingly, and very, very sharp.

“Mother, may I?” She eyed Clarke through the rearview mirror, mockingly asking for permission.

“I don’t see why not,” Clarke shrugged.

She took a pistol from Raven and loaded a new magazine. Then, she screwed on the silencer they’d scavenged in an already-raided gun store in Ohio.

Wells did the same, and they approached the front door silently, Raven at the lead. She picked the lock with ease and stepped inside, Clarke and Wells flanking her.

Raven gave a short whistle and waited to see if anything came running. Nothing did, but that didn’t mean the house was safe. They split up and swept the downstairs as quietly as possible; the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and a bedroom.

Clarke caught Raven looking wearily at the long flight of stairs that led to the second floor, so she jumped in with a hushed, “I’ll check upstairs.”

She carefully ascended and found three doors, all of them open. The one straight ahead at the end of the short hallway was a bathroom, she could tell. So she turned to the door on the right and stepped through, her gun raised.

She heard a creak in the floorboards behind her, but before she could spin around, a hand covered her mouth and dragged her backwards against a solid body. Cold metal pressed against her temple and all she could think of was Wells’ reminding her to _always check your peripherals._ Shit.

“Drop the gun,” The man whispered, very close to her ear.

She did as he said, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Are you alone?” He asked.

Had he not heard them downstairs? Clarke thought they hadn’t been too stealthy walking through the first floor, but she nodded nonetheless.

“Do you have a vehicle?”

She nodded again.

“I’m gonna need you to take me to it. If you scream, I’ll shoot you and leave you for the croaks. You got that?”

Another nod.

He released her and shoved her out into the hallway, following a few feet behind with his gun drawn.

Clarke wasn’t about to turn around, so she headed for the stairs. Then she heard her attacker gasp.

“Drop your gun, asshole,” Raven sneered.

Clarke spun around to see Raven with her stupid sword fit snugly against the man’s neck. He did as she said, sliding his gun across the floor to Clarke, and held his hands up.

In the dark, Clarke couldn’t make out many of his features aside from a fairly lanky frame and dark hair. He was taller than Raven, which made her position behind him a little comical.

“Took you long enough,” Clarke huffed as she grabbed the guy’s gun off the floor. She checked the clip and found it full, so she raised it towards the man.

At that moment Wells bounded up the stairs, gun drawn, and assessed the scene. “Clarke, did you—“

“Check her peripherals?” Raven finished. “Clearly not.”

“Oh, shut up, both of you.”

The man shifted a bit, and their attention turned back to him. Raven pressed the blade firmer against his neck, and he hissed in pain.

“Listen here, buddy,” She snapped. “I _really_ don’t want to kill you. That would suck a lot. But you owe my friend Clarke here an apology. It’s _so_ rude to hold a girl hostage these days, you know? Is chivalry dead or something? I mean—”

“ _Raven,_ ” Wells groaned, cutting her off. He pointed his gun to the man. “You, explain yourself.”

“I needed a car,” The man said, his voice hoarse from what Clarke assumed was probably disuse. “She said she had one. I was just going to take it and leave. I swear.”

“Well, that’s no way to treat a lady,” Raven snorted. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” He answered. “And I’m _not_ lying.”

Clarke snorted, knowing the jab was directed at her. “Let him go, Raven.”

Raven hesitantly withdrew the blade from where it rested against his neck and stepped back.

“Thanks,” He said sourly, rubbing the spot where it broke the skin. He glanced at Clarke. “Look, I’m sorry. I would never have hurt you. I just needed a car.”

Clarke found it hard to believe him.

“Are you really alone?” Wells asked, staring at the man with his gun still raised.

“Yes, I promise. The truth is, I’ve been walking since my truck broke down in the middle of Illinois, and I’m just trying to get to Colorado—”

“We’re going to the Denver. It’s only about two days from here. If you wanted to ride with us.”

“ _Wells_ ,” Raven hissed. “Are you fucking crazy? He could kill us in our sleep or something!”

“It’s three against one. Plus, it’s not like any of us is in the position of killing one of the very few live humans left on this God-forsaken planet. So,” Wells lowered his gun and looked patiently at the man, “You in?”

There was a brief pause, and then, “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’m Wells,” Wells held his hand out in offering.

“Bellamy,” The man said, giving Wells’ hand a brief, hesitant shake.

“Glad we’re all friends now,” Raven scowled, brushing past Bellamy and tromping down the stairs.

Clarke was still a little on edge from the whole encounter, so she volunteered to take first watch because it meant she could keep an eye on their new friend. After boarding up the back doors and windows with whatever they could find, they all crashed in the living room. Raven discovered a pullout bed in the couch, and she and Wells fell onto it immediately. Bellamy took the floor, propping himself up against the wall by the fireplace.

Clarke sat in an armchair by the window, scanning the desolate street and occasionally sparing a glance at Bellamy. Logically, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her and that when he attacked her he was just acting on survival instincts. But still, it didn’t mean she could trust him. It was hard to trust anyone these days, especially after the experience she and Wells had in the Akron settlement.

Wells woke up before her hour was over, and he came to sit on the arm of her chair. “Hey,” He whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She said, “Sort of. Just still a bit shook up I guess.”

“I know you’re probably not thrilled about this whole situation—”

“ _That’s_ an understatement.”

“Denver will be different. Not like Akron.”

“How do you know?” She said fiercely, and a bit too loudly because Bellamy shifted against the wall. She waited until he settled down again and lowered her voice. “He could have killed me. Just like those guys in Akron.”

“Clarke, he was alone. And probably scared. It was different.”

“Well, it didn’t _feel_ different. It felt the same. I don’t want him going with us, and I _don’t_ want to go to Denver.”

“We’re not staying there long. Maybe just a day or two, for supplies. I’ll look out for you.”

“I can look out for myself, thanks,” She replied bitterly.

Wells didn’t say anything, which pissed her off more, so she pushed herself off the chair and climbed into bed with Raven. She tossed and turned for a while, unable to find a comfortable position. Just when she’d given up on sleep altogether, Raven slung an arm around her middle and spooned Clarke from behind. It wasn’t much, but her body warmth relaxed Clarke, and she was finally able to drift off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m hungry,” Raven whined, heading for the kitchen as if she would actually be able to find something edible. She returned a minute later with two cans. “Beans! Only expired by six months.”
> 
> “What a treat,” Bellamy said.
> 
> Raven huffed. “Great, he’s a comedian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk where i'm going with this but hey thanks for reading! again this chapter has had pretty much no editing so read at your own risk.

Clarke was woken at daybreak to the sound of a door opening. The sound jolted her upright on the pullout couch. She immediately grabbed for the knife she kept strapped to her thigh and blearily looked around the room. She briefly caught a glimpse of Bellamy as he slipped out the front door, Raven’s machete in his hand.

Instantly filled with rage that he stole their weapons and tried to leave, she grabbed her gun and snuck after him, careful not to wake Raven or Wells.

When she opened the front door, though, she saw Bellamy in the street, swinging the machete into a small group of croaks. He decapitated all four of them within seconds, looking as calm as a cold-blooded killer. He stood amongst the bodies and surveyed the area, finally seeing Clarke standing in the doorway.

She took a moment then to study him, finally able to get a good look at him in the early morning light. His face was tanned, and as he approached the front steps she could see a splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The mop of dark brown curls hanging down in his face matched his dark eyes. He was actually kind of handsome, but she probably only thought so because he was the first man she’d seen up close in months besides Wells.

“You should have woken me,” She said, crossing her arms in an attempt to look stern.

“There were only four,” He said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. "And you were snoring. It was kind of cute.”

If he hadn’t held a gun to her head the night before, Clarke might have thought he was flirting. Being as it was, she scowled, snatched the machete from his hands and went back inside.

Wells and Raven woke up when they returned to the living room. “What were you two doing?” Wells asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” Clarke and Bellamy said at the same time. He smirked and she scowled at him for good measure.

“I’m hungry,” Raven whined, heading for the kitchen as if she would actually be able to find something edible. She returned a minute later with two cans. “Beans! Only expired by six months.”

“What a treat,” Bellamy said.

“Great, he’s a comedian,” Raven said with an eye roll, stuffing one of the cans in her backpack. With the other one in her left hand, she pulled out her hunting knife and stabbed it open. She pulled a fork from her back pocket and held up the can. “Breakfast anyone?”

An hour later the four of them were piled in the Jeep, well out of St. Louis and in the middle of Missouri farmland. Wells drove while Raven navigated in the front passenger seat.

Clarke sat in the back, pressed as close to the door and as far away from Bellamy as she could manage. They rode in silence for a while after Raven decided they’d be on Highway 70 for a good three hours until the Kansas border.

They passed wilted cornfields, occasionally scattered with cattle that now roamed in herds. No one knew why, but the undead didn’t bother animals, hardly paying them any mind at all. Cattle now roamed prairies, wild dogs ran in packs, and deer were practically everywhere now. It made hunting for food a viable option should they need it.

“So,” Raven said, breaking the silence that had settled over the car for the past two hours. “Bellamy, what’s your story?”

“My story?” Bellamy asked, looking confused.

“Yeah, you know. Your pre-apocalyptic bio and all that.”

Bellamy hesitated for a second, and then cleared his throat. “Uh, I was a graduate teaching assistant at Princeton during the first year of the plague. When the second wave hit, I’d just accepted a part-time professor position. Obviously, I didn’t do much teaching after that.”

“Clarke was pre-med at Princeton,” Wells said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Right?”

“Yep,” Clarke said. “So the end of the world was kind of a blessing in disguise, actually.”

At Bellamy’s confused expression, she smiled. “I didn’t want to be a doctor, but my parents didn’t think that mattered.”

“I’m more interested in how you went to Princeton and survived the campus outbreak,” Bellamy said.

“I took a leave of absence to take care of my dad when he got sick,” She said sourly, remembering the day her mom finally, after two months of keeping her in the dark, asked Clarke to come home and be with her dad.

“I was going to be a lawyer,” Wells interrupted, always the peacekeeper. “Kinda bummed about that.”

“You’re too passive to bully anybody in court,” Raven snorted.

Wells frowned, but the Jeep lurched suddenly and began to slow. “What the—” He started, pumping his foot up and down on the gas pedal. In response, the Jeep made several horrible clunking and grinding noises and rolled to a stop.

“Shit,” Raven said as smoke began billowing out from under the hood. “Did anyone think to check the oil?”

“My main concern was gasoline?” Wells said, although it sounded more like a question than an answer.

Raven glared at him as she flung open the door and hopped out. They all piled out of the car after her and waited silently while she popped the hood and fiddled around for a minute. Finally, after cursing several times and smearing grease all over herself, she turned to them and sighed. “Looks like we’re walking.”

Clarke’s eyes immediately shot down to Raven’s bum leg as she rounded the Jeep towards the trunk. She glanced at Wells and Bellamy, who were both also watching Raven’s leg warily. She knew what they were all thinking; they were much more vulnerable walking than they were in a car. Croaks were notoriously slow, but Clarke wasn’t entirely confident Raven could outrun one if put to the task.

She felt someone staring and looked at Bellamy, who was watching her with concern in his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something but clamped it shut when Raven called out, “You guys gonna help me carry all this or what?”

They loaded themselves down with as much as they could possibly carry. Between the four of them they had six handguns, three rifles, one 12-gauge shotgun, multiple hunting knives at varying lengths, Raven’s machete.

“Leave the shotgun,” Bellamy said as Clarke leaned into the trunk for it. When she ignored him and reached for it he placed a hand on her arm. “I’m serious. It’s heavy and only fires two rounds at a time. Not efficient, especially if we’re walking.”

She shrugged off his hand and scowled, slinging the gun’s strap over her shoulder. “We need all the weapons we can carry.”

“And I’m telling you, that one’s not worth it. How fast can you reload it?”

“I know how to reload it,” She snapped.

“I asked you how _quickly_ you could reload it.”

“Would you kindly _fuck off_ —”

“Oh- _kay_ ,” Wells interrupted. “Bellamy, drop it. Clarke, don’t be such an ass.”

She and Bellamy both scoffed, but she knew Wells understood why she wanted to take the shotgun with her, why she’d held onto it after all this time. She adjusted it so the strap lay across her chest and the gun rested diagonal across her back over her backpack.

“We should get going,” She said, avoiding Bellamy’s pointed glare.

The four of them began their hike along the highway, the sun’s unobstructed rays on their backs not unwelcome since it was still early March and decently brisk in Missouri. Clarke took the rear, still not able to kick her nerves around Bellamy. She watched him as they walked; he moved with purpose, but stayed always a step behind Raven, never passing her up. Clarke wondered if he was doing it intentionally.

They passed more vacant cornfields and bean fields, overgrown pastures and dilapidated billboards.

Raven suggested they stop at the first highway exit they find, to stock up on food and possibly ammunition, since they _were_ in the middle of Missouri. The rest of them did not point out the fact that she was nearly out of breath and shiny with sweat despite the chill in the air.

“Sounds good,” Wells piped up. “I’m nearly starved.”

They end up stopping in Kingdom City, a peeling sign declaring “Nostalgia Ville, USA,” greeting them as they hiked up the exit ramp. They scoured a mostly empty convenience store and came up with some tampons for Clarke and Raven and a can of dip for Bellamy.

“What a nasty habit,” Clarke commented as Bellamy lodged a pouch into his lower lip.

He grinned at her, goofy and smug with his lower lip jutted out ridiculously. “Too bad I don’t give a shit.”

They walked further into the town, silent and ghostly, and found a grocery store. Bellamy jingled the front doorbell an annoyingly high number of times, and Clarke almost snapped at him to stop when she heard shuffling and groaning growing louder.

One at a time, about six croaks emerged from the aisles of the grocery store, and Bellamy turned around. “Any takers?”

Raven leaned heavily against Wells and offered up her machete. “Be my guest.”

Bellamy took the machete and swung it around in his hand several times.

“Show-off,” Clarke huffed and ripped her hunting knife from her boot, stalking towards the lumbering dead. She tucked her mouth into her shirt and slit the throat of the croak nearest her, then plunged the knife into the ear of the one behind it.

Bellamy was quick to follow, hacking down three in quick succession, always making sure to sever their heads.

The fifth one hobbled towards them fairly quickly, wearing what used to be a clerk’s uniform. Clarke plunged her knife into its head and watched it drop. She yelped when Bellamy’s machete came down onto its neck, decapitating it.

“Why do you decapitate them?” She asked, looking away from the sludgy black blood oozing from the body.

“You can never be too sure,” Bellamy said. “I just like a little insurance.”

“So morbid,” She pulled a face.

Bellamy shrugged and nudged her sideways to swing at the sixth croak rushing towards them. It dropped, but its decrepit hand reached towards Clarke’s ankle, and Bellamy quickly chopped its neck clean through. The hand stopped moving, and Clarke looked up to see Bellamy watching her.

“Like I said, insurance.”

She rolled her eyes and retrieved her knife from the severed head of the croak she’d stabbed.

“Shall we go shopping now?” Wells asked, still propping Raven up near the front door.

They raided the canned food aisle, finding some that even expired as recently as two or three months ago. Wells found a hot plate, a pot and an outlet that still worked, so they boiled water from a pack of bottles they’d found in the drink aisle.

Clarke thought that maybe rivers and streams would be safe enough to drink from these days, with the plague cured and animals drinking from water sources again, but Wells wouldn’t have it. He boiled water any chance he got, and she didn’t really care enough to fight him on it.

“You know, I’ve seen animals drinking from rivers and streams,” Bellamy said, leaning over the top of the checkout counter to watch Wells fill canteens. “Boiling bottled water probably isn’t necessary.”

Clarke snorted because she’d pointed out the same exact thing to Wells countless times.

Wells shot her a glare and then fixed it on Bellamy. “What did you say earlier about decapitating croaks? Something about insurance? Same goes for me with water.”

Bellamy glanced at Clarke who shook her head quickly. He must have gotten the message because he simply shrugged and said, “Whatever, man.”

They woke up Raven from behind the checkout counter where she’d been dozing and hit the road again.

It was nearing sunset, so Wells suggested they start looking for an open field or higher ground to settle down for the night. They weren’t exactly sure why, but the croaks didn’t seem to like climbing uphill; higher ground was always safest.

The flatness of Missouri though, seemed endless. Finally, they spotted a single tree in the middle of what appeared to be an abandoned farm field. It wasn’t a hill, but at least they’d be able to see anything – or anyone – coming from miles around.

Raven slumped down against the tree immediately, grumbling about sleeping outside. She balled up her jacket and placed it behind her head. “I can take first watch,” She said, stifling a yawn.

“Yeah, right,” Clarke replied, dropping her backpack down. “Get some sleep. I’ll do it.”

She sat down and leaned against her backpack, scanning the darkening horizon. She startled when Bellamy dropped down a small pile of dead branches and sticks next to her.

“For the fire we’ll need in the morning,” He explained, dropping down beside her.

They didn’t dare light a fire at night. Croaks were drawn to the light, and they didn’t need any unwanted attention.

“Temperature’s dropping,” Wells said as he settled down next to Raven. He draped his thick jacket over Raven’s lap and tossed a long sleeve flannel to Clarke.

She stripped off her brown leather jacket and put the flannel on over her t-shirt, then pulled her jacket back on. “Thanks, Dad,” She quipped, but Wells had already begun to drift off.

She looked back at Bellamy, who was on his back staring up at the sky. She tilted her head back and looked at it too as it turned a darker shade of blue, new stars appearing every minute. Clarke liked when they did this; camped outside in the open, under the night sky.

After a little while of staring upwards, her neck began to cramp, so she tilted her head down and rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension. She scanned the area, checking for any signs of movement, and caught Bellamy’s gaze.

“What?” She asked, suddenly self-conscious from his stare.

“Nothing,” He said, looking back up at the sky. “Can’t sleep is all.”

“Don’t like sleeping outside?”

“I love it, actually,” He replied. “I’ve gotten a bit claustrophobic over the years. Sleeping outside is the only way I really do get a good rest.”

Clarke frowned. “I feel the same way.”

“Plus, I’ve been on my own mostly since the outbreak, and it’s what I’ve gotten used to.”

“For three years?” Clarke interrupted, sitting up straight so she could look at him. “You’ve been alone for three years?”

He frowned. “No. I had a friend. Nathan. He was bitten.”

His mouth audibly clamped shut, and something about his stricken expression told Clarke that was as much as he was willing to say on the matter.

“My dad died from the plague,” She offered, feeling the need to fill the silence. “My mom got infected though, in the second wave. She tried to attack me. I escaped out my bedroom window while she was throwing herself against my bedroom door.”

She glanced over and saw Bellamy looking at her, wearing an unreadable expression. “I just meant that it’s an awful feeling to see somebody you care about like that. I get it.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” She said, shrugging. “We’ve all got a sad story.”

They sat quietly for a while, so long that Clarke though maybe he’d fallen asleep. She risked a glance at him and found him staring at her again.

“Okay, you’ve got to stop that.”

He didn’t even blink. “What happened in Akron?”

Her jaw clenched automatically at the word. “Is that any of your business?” She spit out between gritted teeth.

“No,” He said, not sounding remorseful at all. “It just seems to still upset you. Figured I’d ask.”

“Yeah, well it started pretty similarly to how you and I met and didn’t end as well.”

She glared down at him, expecting him to have a pitying expression, but instead, his whole body was rigid, his face tense with what seemed like anger.

“Did they—” He started, his voice low. He swallowed, clenching his jaw. “Did someone _hurt_ you?”

“No, not — not like that. Just a black eye and a split lip,” She looked away. “Wells busted down the door before anything else could happen.”

“That won’t happen in Denver,” He said, sounding insistent. “I swear to you, I won’t let it. I owe you that much.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” She replied, although her words lacked heat. “But thanks.”

He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t spare any more glances at him to see if he was awake. She let Raven and Wells sleep through the night, and had a small fire started by the time the sun crept over the horizon.

After they ate breakfast, they began packing up. As she reached for her 12-gauge, Bellamy scooped it up and held it out to her.

For some reason, it felt like a peace offering. She took it.


End file.
